


what time is it? poem time!

by shella688



Series: fast-travel across the atlantic with this 1 weird tip [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: (Two Friends Having Fun Without Plot), Friendship, Gen, I Am Not A Poet Oh Well, Night Vale Is Weird And People Don't Quite Know How To React, Poetry, Screenplay/Script Format, TFHFWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21771952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shella688/pseuds/shella688
Summary: Poetry Week has come to Night Vale once again, bringing the written word, the spoken word, and a guest from afar...
Relationships: Background (canon) jonmartin + cecilos, Cecil & Martin Blackwood
Series: fast-travel across the atlantic with this 1 weird tip [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540597
Comments: 22
Kudos: 238





	what time is it? poem time!

**Author's Note:**

> This is still set pre-MAG160 but like... much _less_ pre-160...
> 
> I'd also like to give a big shoutout to everyone who's stuck with and enjoyed this wild headcannon-now-actual-fic-series you're all fantastic
> 
> Weather: [The Feeling of Freedom, by River Whyless](https://open.spotify.com/track/5Z3day0eZclo6yEkeQnlAv?si=VYg9IvhzR_S6J-6PLdLO4A)

**Cecil**  
If you're nodding - nearly napping - and suddenly there comes a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at your chamber door, then it is a duck.

Welcome, to Night Vale.

* * *

**Cecil**  
Time has passed, as time so stubbornly seems to do, and now Poetry Week has come around again. Can you all believe it? I know that I can't. In fact, I didn't even know it was Poetry Week until yesterday, when Pamela Winchell, Director of Emergency Press Conferences, called an emergency press conference to tell us all.

Well, technically she stood before the assembled reporters, wailing and chanting in long forgotten tongues until our ears bled and our thoughts melted and our minds bent under the strain.

But we all knew what she meant.

Anyway, though I am very excited to read out all these government-mandated poems, first I have an important announcement: today I have a co-host, all the way from Britain, it's Martin Blackwood!

 **Martin**  
Hi Cecil and hi Night Vale! It's great to be here.

 **Cecil**  
It's no worry! So, I know who you are, obviously, but for the benefit of our listeners, do you want to introduce yourself?

 **Martin**  
Sure thing. So, I'm Martin Blackwood and I know Jon, if you remember him? He came through a disappearing door that one time. After that whole thing him and Cecil ended up keeping in touch-

 **Cecil**  
_(cheerily)_ I still don't know how he got my number.

 **Martin**  
Oh... that's, not great.

Anyway, the two of us starting talking too, Cecil being my boyfriend's friend and all, which lead to me and Carlos becoming friends and exchanging letters. And now I'm here, and I guess I'll be sticking around for the rest of the show.

 **Cecil**  
He sure is and I cannot wait. Oh, and I didn't know you and Jon had started dating? I'm so happy for you! I remember my first date with Carlos - we escaped from Gino’s Italian Dining Experience And Grill And Bar together then we just walked, enjoying each other's company, even as the rest of the town turned into buzzing shadow people. It was a perfect night, in all its imperfections.

 **Martin**  
Our first date wasn't quite that... intense. We're up in Scotland - temporarily, hopefully - and we just wandered. No plan, no expectations, nothing watching us; it was really great. Hold on- I've got a picture here.

 **Cecil**  
Aw that's so cute, you both look so happy! And that is such a good cow! You know, I never realised cows could have two eyes.

Like he said, Martin will be around for the entire show, and is willing to answer some questions you've sent in. But now, dear listeners, is the moment we've all been waiting for: the first poem of Poetry Week.

This was written by Jonny d'Ville, who, as we all know, recently moved into the abandoned, ash-covered lot where Louie's Music Shop once stood and now offers guitar lessons for a very reasonable rate. Here's what he sent:

Flashes like camera bulbs fire in my brain,  
Is this truly me?  
Am I going insane?  
In faint bloody flashes I watch people die  
And if that was me -  
Then who am I?

Thank you for sharing that with us Jonny! Martin?

 **Martin**  
Interesting subject choice there. It was actually quite lyrical, almost music-like, you know?

 **Cecil**  
Martin does have a point; have you ever considered joining a band? With those guitar and song writing skills, you could easily find some like minded people and just have fun!

What have you got there?

 **Martin**  
I've got another poem - this one's by...  
Um...

 **Cecil**  
Go on.

 **Martin**  
The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home?

 **Cecil**  
Oh how exciting!

 **Martin**  
Unusual pen name, don't you think?

 **Cecil**  
What do you mean? That's her real name.

 **Martin**  
Okay but- she lives in my home?

 **Cecil**  
No, she lives in _your_ home.

 **Martin**  
That's what I said.

 **Cecil**  
You asked if she lived in my home, which is wrong. It says so in her name - she lives in your home.

 **Martin**  
So... she lives in your home? I mean, _all_ of your homes, all at once?

 **Cecil**  
What - no, of course not! One moment, listeners, let's go to a word from our sponsors. We'll be back with more poems shortly.

* * *

**Cecil**  
_(pre-recorded)_  
Do you have a stationary drawer? Of course you do. Open it. _Open it._ No not that stationary drawer, the other one. Open it, what's inside? Things remembered and things forgotten and those that are both. The lost and the found. Bones and ashes. Are you using that bone? Can we have it? You're not using it. You don't need it. You're just being selfish. Let us have the bone. _Let us have the bone._ We want it. We _need_ it.

Staples. Stop being so selfish.

* * *

**Martin**  
Right, so, this is a poem by _(heavy sigh)_ The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your open bracket yes yours not mine yours look just don't question it she'll get annoyed and change your wifi password close bracket Home.

I don't write haikus  
Couldn't tell you why, I just  
Don't really like them

That's-

 **Cecil**  
_(interrupting)_ A very nice poem, thank you very much for that!

Now before we continue with more of these fantastic poems, there's some questions here you've all sent in for Martin, if that's good?

_(sounds of agreement)_

So first up is one from John Peters, you know, the farmer? He asks: have you ever eaten corn grown in a dream?

 **Martin**  
Not to my knowledge, no.

_(pause)_

Is it - is it a delicacy round here?

 **Cecil**  
Well - ever since wheat and wheat by-products were outlawed, imaginary corn has seen a massive boost in popularity so... I guess so! You should try some imaginary cornflakes one day, they truly are made from one of the finest crops Night Vale has to offer. Well, one of the only crops Night Vale has to offer. The scientists still haven't figured out a way to grow things in sand.

One more question here from John With A B, Representative Of The Sheriff's Secret Police. He says: has Martin written a poem? He has to, you know. We all know what happens to people who don't write their governmentaly-mandated poems...

Now I'm going to stop you right there John With A B, Representative Of The Sheriff's Secret Police! Of _course_ Martin has got a poem with him today and of _course_ he's wearing his Night Vale Visitor's Badge because he respects our customs and-

 **Martin**  
Wait- what was that second bit?

 **Cecil**  
The Night Vale Visitor's Badge? All visitors get given one before they pass through the third checkpoint.

 **Martin**  
Yeah... erm, about that. Helen just dropped me off straight here didn't she? I've not left this building since I arrived.

_(extended pause)_

_(sounds of knocking, continuing intermittently through Cecil's speech)_

**Cecil**  
_(urgently)_ Listeners, there is someone knocking at the door to the recording booth and I am sure, though I cannot see him, that it is John With A B, Representative Of The Sheriff's Secret Police. I do not know what will happen now, because I have placed the same unwavering and unearned trust in the Sheriff's Secret Police just like you all - but I _do_ know that I refuse to let Martin be taken to the abandoned mineshaft outside of town.

People of Night Vale, I- I am going to do something. Hopefully, I will know what this something is when I start doing it. But now, whilst I am doing this something, I will give you all something else:

The Weather.

* * *

**Cecil**  
John With A B, Representative Of The Sheriff's Secret Police, has gone, dear listeners. He was here, knocking angrily, then he simply wasn't here anymore, _not_ knocking angrily.

I cannot know what happened for certain, because I did not leave this recording booth, nor did I abandon Martin. However, it would not surprise any of us if a yellow door was involved - a door which by now will have disappeared. Typical.

But shame on you - John With A B, Representative Of The Sheriff's Secret Police! Of _course_ Martin has got a poem with him today and of _course_ he has a Night Vale Visitor's Badge, which my niece Janice forged for him just now. Shame on you! You are a disgrace to the otherwise completely trustworthy name of the Sheriff's Secret Police!

 _Shame_!

 **Martin**  
Also... I'm still here!

 **Cecil**  
_(suddenly upbeat)_ Also, Martin's still alive and doing great!

 **Martin**  
Now, before John dis- sorry, John With A B, Representative Of The Sheriff's Secret Police, disappeared, this poem was pushed underneath the door. Cecil claimed it's a waste of paper and breath but I think it'll be exciting! Anyway, this was submitted by John With A B, Representative Of The Sheriff's Secret Police, (Post-Mortem, Presumably).

5am I awoke, the sun  
missing, moon gone, yet still  
no-one spoke.  
who am I who am I what  
is my name?  
the angles they all just  
cut into my brain.  
so then take both my hands  
peel back the skin  
tell me what secrets are  
written therein.

What do you think, Cecil?

 **Cecil**  
Huh? Oh, sorry Martin, I didn't realise you were speaking to me. I had blocked my ears to ensure none of the foul poetic musings of John With A B, Representative Of The Sheriff's Secret Police, (Post-Mortem, Presumably) entered my innocent brain.

And just look at the time! Night Vale, Martin, it is-

Oh! Hi there Intern Juan! Listeners, Intern Juan has just gotten back from reporting on the events being hosted to celebrate Poetry Week, and he has a message. Thank you, Intern Juan! Ooh, it's from Dark Owl Records...

They say their merch sale is still on for the foreseeable future! Come and get your merch before it becomes mainstream and I have to destroy every remaining box! I'm warning you - I have a lighter! Back off! I see you, skulking back there. You can't escape me!

 **Martin**  
That sounds, uh, interesting. Where's their shop?

 **Cecil**  
It's only a short walk away actually, just down Main Street. Now, as you do not yet know, but we all do, Dark Owl Records have a very unique business strategy; you hand over the money and they ship the product to a random person in the world. So far, no-one in Night Vale has received anything but I'm remaining hopeful!

Now, dear listeners, it is nearly the end of the show. Oh, I have been excited about this ever since Martin and I first spoke about doing this.

Night Vale, it is my _pleasure_ to give you a poem written by none other than my good friend, Martin Blackwood!

 **Martin**  
So... before I start, I'd like to just thank someone who has literally always been there, regardless of, well, my views on the matter. We've had our ups and downs - some pretty big downs, to be fair, but it's been getting better. _(small laugh)_ God, I'm monologuing here - I just want to say thanks, Helen. There are worse people to be locked in endless corridors by.

 **Cecil**  
Aww, that's so sweet. Ready to read your poem?

 **Martin**  
_(deep breath)_ Yeah, yeah sure.

Behold me, my beloved  
as I give you my story.  
Take this as my Yes,  
this as my blessing,  
this your permission  
Because I know you, my beloved  
I see you and I know you  
and I know you See me too.  
So therefore do not ask me  
How could I love a monster?  
Because there's no way I could not

 **Cecil**  
Thank you, Martin, I could tell how much that meant. And thank you - yes, _you_. You, who has been listening to these fragile thoughts captured in words not meant to hold them. You, who has heard my voice, and heard my co-host's voice, and who is maybe now realising that you have a voice of your own, and that it too deserves to be heard.  
You, who listens and hears and, above all, comprehends.

Goodnight, Night Vale.

Goodnight.

**Author's Note:**

> Johnny d'Ville's poem is the chorus of [Loki](https://youtu.be/WP51rWYwGQA) by none other than the Mechanisms, which is a _fantastic_ band plus you get to hear Jonny Sims go completely feral  
> (All the other poems are mine)
> 
> As always come shout at me on tumblr! [ regicidal-defenestration](https://regicidal-defenestration.tumblr.com/)


End file.
